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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24375241">Upon My Works</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/entanglednow/pseuds/entanglednow'>entanglednow</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Good Omens (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Aftermath of Torture, Aftermath of Violence, Angst, Aziraphale Loves Crowley (Good Omens), Crowley Loves Aziraphale (Good Omens), Crowley is Bad at Being a Demon (Good Omens), Hell Is Awful, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Trauma, non-graphic</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-05-26</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-05-26</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 00:55:19</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,000</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24375241</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/entanglednow/pseuds/entanglednow</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Hell doesn't send rude notes, they drag you back downstairs to pay for your mistakes.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>105</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>541</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Upon My Works</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>This is the last story for the 1000 words challenge I set myself last week. Thank you for all the encouragement. It was a lot of fun, even if I did constantly feel like I was trying to put too much story into all of them, and some of the word counts pummelled me, including this one.  But I might do it again some time.</p>
<p>I have an angsty one to end on. Which I feel a little bad for, but it was the last one I finished.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Crowley shows up a day later than he'd promised, but that isn't particularly notable, they both have their occasionally unpredictable schedules, especially where their home office's are concerned. But when Aziraphale looks up from his spot beside the desk, at the familiar flare of occult power, he knows immediately that Crowley's shape in the doorway is wrong.</p>
<p>He's holding himself with a stiff, unnatural sort of focus, as if he's trying very hard to fit properly into his corporation, while at the same time feeling none of it. </p>
<p>Aziraphale sets the letter opener he's holding down. "Crowley, are you alright?" </p>
<p>There's a strange, rasping noise, like a swallow gone wrong.</p>
<p>"I didn't mean to come here." It almost sounds like an apology, and Crowley's voice is painfully dry. </p>
<p>Aziraphale leaves the desk and goes to him. The light from outside gives Crowley's face a hollow, ghoulish sort of look, his clothes are dirty, and he's sweating, a rare and unpleasant sign. Aziraphale knows Crowley's skin will be cold and damp to the touch, all the energy cored out of him. Whatever Hell had done to him may have been been healed over, but the memory of it still remains, the body still expects to be hurt, expects to be broken, still has to be convinced that it's whole.</p>
<p>Aziraphale very slowly stretches an arm past him to shut the door, flipping the sign to 'closed' and then locking it for good measure.</p>
<p>Crowley lifts a shaky, red-spotted hand to pull his glasses off and Aziraphale manages not to make any sort of horrified noise when it reveals his eyes, one of which is still twitching, the pupil an ill match for the other. A smear of red travels outwards from the corner, another down from the middle. Which is exactly the pattern you get when someone forces something into your eye. When they take your eye from you.</p>
<p>"Crowley?" Aziraphale reaches out, settles his hand carefully on Crowley's elbow, and the demon's whole arm locks up, then twitches violently under the gentle touch, as if his first instinct had been to lash out, to shove him away. But instead he forces himself to relax, he lets Aziraphale steer him.</p>
<p>Crowley slowly follows him to the sofa, his painful, staggering gait obvious in a way that can't help but worry Aziraphale. The clear weakness is not something Crowley would usually reveal. Which suggests either complete healing would have taken more energy than he could spare, or the damage was to his original form, something much less easy to fix with a quick miracle.</p>
<p>Checking would be an atrocious violation right now, but the fact that the blood on him is red and not black is a reassuring sign.</p>
<p>"Official reprimand," Crowley offers, as if he thinks Aziraphale requires - or is owed - something in the way of explanation. "Not usually a group sssport, but they've noticed my reluctance to get my hands dirty. "</p>
<p>"You don't have to explain to me," Aziraphale tells him, but softly, because Crowley rarely offers comment on Hell's punishments, though Aziraphale knows he's been subjected to them before. It's not something that they talk about, and Aziraphale has never pushed.</p>
<p>"Flat'sss cold," Crowley says, the hiss of his voice stuttery and painful sounding. "Doesn't feel comfortable right now."</p>
<p><i>It doesn't feel safe</i>.</p>
<p>He doesn't have to say it, he won't say it, but it's obvious enough. Crowley's clearly exhausted, but he won't - or can't - sleep anywhere that doesn't feel safe.</p>
<p>Aziraphale shifts the cushions on the sofa, takes a seat on one end.</p>
<p>"Why don't you make yourself comfortable here," he suggests quietly.</p>
<p>"Don't want to impose," Crowley says stiffly, though his whole body is clearly fighting the urge to lean into Aziraphale's space, as if he's desperate for his warmth, his stability, his company. But he isn't sure if he's welcome, isn't sure if it's something he can have. It's deeply painful to watch. Aziraphale is worried and furious, almost too much to paper over with softness and easy words, but he understands that there's nothing he can do, he's always understood that. Nothing but be gentle, nothing but be the friend that Crowley deserves. </p>
<p>"It's alright, I'm sure I have some things that could do with a re-read, I could do it out loud to you, if you like?"</p>
<p>Crowley sways, forehead creasing in a frown that looks helpless.</p>
<p>"How about some Agatha Christie?" Aziraphale suggests with a smile. "I know you're fond of a mystery."</p>
<p>"Aziraphale." Crowley's voice seems to be protesting, as if Aziraphale is offering him too much. As if he doesn't deserve this.</p>
<p>"Hush, no arguments, come on." Aziraphale gently encourages Crowley down next to him, watching the way he folds himself slowly, seats himself carefully, as if any impact is going to jostle his bones out of alignment, press on open wounds, aggravate remembered breaks. </p>
<p>Aziraphale chances a hand round the ball of Crowley's shoulder, which tenses and then relaxes in his grip. </p>
<p>"Rest for a little while. You won't be in the way, I promise."</p>
<p>Crowley very slowly leans into the side of him, the weight of him barely anything at all. He slowly submits to gravity, or to the pull of Aziraphale's warmth, unable or unwilling to hold itself upright any longer. And Aziraphale can feel how cold Crowley is through three layers of clothing. He gestures briefly, and a blanket settles over him, thick enough to hide his sharp edges. It doesn't take long for Crowley to slide down completely, until he's a jumble of long limbs and chilled skin on the sofa, head against Aziraphale's side, one long, black-nailed hand curled tightly round his knee.</p>
<p>Aziraphale's barely a dozen pages into 'The Body In The Library,' before Crowley's breathing goes deep and slow. </p>
<p>He finds himself extending part of his essence over him, the half-formed reality of a wing spreading over the entirety of the demon, reassuring him that no one will find him while he sleeps.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><div class="children module" id="children">
  <b class="heading">Works inspired by this one:</b>
  <ul>
    <li>
        <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27231058">[Podfic] Upon My Works</a> by <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/Djapchan/pseuds/Djapchan">Djapchan</a>
    </li>
  </ul>
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